He said ānot like other girlsā like it was a compliment
I Donāt Want to Be Your Favorite If You Hate the Rest.
Poem 11: He said ānot like other girlsā like it was a compliment
from the series āThe Crown Was Never Yoursā ā The Misogyny You Dressed in Compliments
As if thereās honor
in being an exception to your prejudice,
as if being elevated means anything
when itās only because youāve decided
to look down on the rest,
as if what made me desirable
was how well I erased
the parts of myself
you find inconvenient in other women.
What you meant was:
you donāt interrupt me when Iām wrong,
you laugh small,
cry privately,
donāt take up space with opinions.
You nod even when you disagree.
You fold instead of break.
Youāre easier to love
because you donāt expect to be loved well.
You turned sisterhood into scarcity,
held up femininity like a contest
where the winner is the one
who disappears first.
You told me I was better
because I didnāt burn as loudlyā
but forgot
that Iām still fire,
just quiet enough
to reach your bones.
And for a moment,
I wore it like a crownā
that poisoned praiseā
thinking I had survived girlhood
by transcending it,
when really
I had just betrayed it.
What you never saw
is that I am like other girlsā
resilient,
radiant,
relentless,
tired of being pitted against softness
like itās something to grow out of.
So donāt flatter me with comparisons
you use to silence us.
Donāt call me rare
when what you mean is compliant.
Donāt make me your favorite
just because I didnāt tell you no fast enough.
I am not your trophy
for tolerating womanhood
in a smaller dose.
I am not better.
I am done.
This poem is a rejection.
Of the compliments that came wrapped in comparison.
Of the illusion that being āchosenā means being respected.
Of the violence hidden inside flattery.
I was taught early on that being unlike other girls was something to be proud ofā
as if womanhood was a ladder,
and being palatable to men put you one step higher.
This poem is about how I betrayed other girls just to feel safe.
How I let myself be praised for staying quiet.
For being ācool.ā
For being tolerable.
For being small.
It took me too long to realize that wasnāt survival.
That was silence.
That was starvation.
I wrote this to reclaim my belonging.
To say: I am like other girls.
And that is the highest compliment I could ever give myself.
I am not flattered.
I am furious.
And I am no longer afraid to say it out loud.
Ā© 2025 Solena Vyhra. All rights reserved.
This work is part of the poetry collection The Crown Was Never Yours.
No part of this poem, including text or visual design, may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.
For inquiries, permissions, or collaborations, please contact: solenavyhra@gmail.com
Illustration and layout by Solena Vyhra.
Typography: Special Elite (poem titles), Signature (author tag).
Published on Substack via Where Silence Becomes Ritual.
Amazing and disturbing and very real. Thank you for your words
This one hit hard. What is that need for validation that causes us to betray ourselves and our sisters?